


Clean Slate

by Goldenpetal13



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Amnesiac Stiles, F/M, Memory Loss, dub con, gender swap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-18
Updated: 2014-07-18
Packaged: 2018-02-09 09:50:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1978347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goldenpetal13/pseuds/Goldenpetal13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Future Fic. Amnesia Steter Fic.  Waking up I have no idea where or who I am.  And there’s a guy who keeps coming to see me.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Empty

**Author's Note:**

> Rated M more for themes and because I’m paranoid
> 
> Warnings: Amnesia, Dub-Con because of lack of knowledge, Memory loss, Gender Swap.
> 
> Don’t like don’t read, though constructive criticism is always welcome (plus any reviews). 
> 
> I own nothing, literally.
> 
> Also 100% compliant to the end of Season 3, including genders... And no that isn't a typo, enjoy :)

A single note blares out making me wake up. And I wake into pain and darkness. Everything hurts, I can’t move, I can’t see, I’m cold, and that noise rips though my aching head.

 

I’m surrounded and enclosed, trapped somewhere. It’s not until the scream attempts to claw its way out I realise I’m gagged too. When I blink my eyelids are gummed with something. My arms are secured behind me. I can move one of my legs, the other is agony with even the slightest movement, I think it’s broken.

 

In my chest my heart starts to speed up and I can’t breathe. I can’t get enough air in through my nose and past the cloth gagging me. I’m going to die here. I’m going to die and it’ll be game over.

 

Suddenly there’s a new sound and the top of my prison is gone. A bright light shines in and down onto me. Behind the light are two bright red eyes. “Hello? Can you hear me?” It’s a man’s voice and I have to close my eyes as the light stabs into them. “Okay, hold on, I’m gonna call the Sherriff. Just hold on miss, he’ll be here soon.” The light goes away but now I can see out of my prison and it lets me know I’m in the truck of a car, and the noise I can here is the sound of the horn.

 

Sheriff, I know that word. That word is safe and home. Warm arms and family.

 

My awareness fades away and the car horn fades with it.

 

*.*.*

 

The car horn is still blaring. No, now it’s a bleeping sound. I pry my eyes open and shut them immediately. The world is too bright, white, and not cold anymore.

 

In fact not hurt-y anymore either.

 

Carefully I squint about to find myself in a hospital room. Nothing feels real so I let myself fall asleep again, whatever drugs they have me on are really awesome.

 

*.*.*

 

I should have stayed asleep.

 

Nothing is familiar. The nurse who came in and woke me up is nice, but her dark hair is wrong, it’s straight, and it should be curly. She’s warm, professional, and wrong. She should be motherly. She didn’t like it when she asked me my name and I couldn’t tell her what it is. I don’t remember.

 

I don’t remember anything about me.

 

She goes to call the doctor and the woman who walks in is business like and abrupt. She doesn’t believe me about my memory loss. She thinks I’m faking it. She asks me other questions, “Who is the President?”, “What date is it?”, and “How old are you?”

 

I answer her with, “Barak Obama, December twenty ten, and I’m sixteen.” I’m sure I’ve gotten the right answers but she exchanges a look with the nurse and I know I’ve gotten them wrong.

 

“Stay here please,” She says and I glare at her because I’ve gotten through enough of the fog in my head to know I’m hurt, badly. There are bandages on my wrists, bruises on my arms, a big bandage on my neck which goes all the way around, and I can see the cast on my right leg so I’m guessing it’s broken. I don’t know about other injuries.

 

She leaves me with the nurse who fidgets and does her best to distract me. Watching the clock on the wall lets me know it’s been nearly an hour before the doctor comes back in and proceeds to tell me next to nothing. I have a few blows to my head but no swelling in my head. There was no sign of sexual assault but extreme and prolonged physical assault, with marks consistent with long term restraints and abuse. And all the injuries are caused by blunt force, except on the back on my neck where there are numerous puncture wounds that seem to line up in fives.

 

I have no idea how to process any of this and frankly neither does she.

 

The Sheriff has been called and I have to lay there and wait for him to turn up.


	2. Little Red

The Sheriff is useless too. He can’t tell me anything. Only that they were called to the scene of a car crash by a Mr Hemming. It looks like the male driver died on impact. I was in the trunk. They can’t ID the driver and the only things in the car were a small red hoodie and a fake ID with my face and the name Rowen Gates. It says I’m twenty seven. And the year is apparently 2020.

 

My name doesn’t pan out, it was fake.

 

My prints aren’t in the system. The driver’s prints weren’t in the system. I’m a Jane Doe.

 

And I’m a girl?

 

I don’t feel like a girl, but when I look down at my chest I have boobs.

 

Oh and to top that all off Mr Hemming is apparently paying for my hospital bills.

 

I have no idea who he even is. He told the Sheriff he was just passing through the tiny town and happened to be there shortly after the crash happened. A crash the Sheriff still doesn’t understand. There was nothing there for them to crash into, except the car has a freaking huge dent in the front of it, so they hit something, something that was able to do serious damage to a vehicle and then vanish into thin air.

 

As he leaves me to stew with nothing he mentions the strange animal tracks near the road. Shrugging he walks out and I stare after him wondering what I’m supposed to do now.

 

The only good thing to come out of this is that I have a name now. Rowen Gates. It’s not right, but it’s something. Laying on the bed I stare at the boring ceiling and try to remember anything, anything at all.


	3. Stone of Help

A knock on my door has me looking over. Anything to break the monotony of laying here and breathing. When the door opens there’s a man standing there. He’s average height, wearing dark jeans, short hair. He smiles at me and there’s a twinkle in his eyes and a big bunch of flowers in his hands. “Hi, I’m Eb Hemming, I’ve been waiting for you to wake up.”

 

“Hi?” I venture unsure and there’s something about him that frightens me.

 

“Can I come in?” He asks and I really don’t want him to. Hesitantly I give a fraction of a nod and he walks in and over to the side of my bed. “I got these for you. They come with their own vase, I didn’t think you’d have one yet.” He places them on the little cabinet and I can see a riot of green with pale yellow and some orange flowers poking out of the top.

 

“Um, thank you?” I stare at the flowers and then the man who is sitting down near my bed.

 

“You’re quite welcome miss,” He leans back in the chair and without the flowers in the way I can see the tight green v-neck stretch over his chest. “So, how long until your family gets here? I need to get back home but I want to make sure you’re going to be in safe hands before I do.”

 

“I don’t,” I have no idea how to explain, “I don’t know if I have any family,” sounds really pathetic and somehow this guy gets me to tell him everything, not that it’s much. He offers to stay in town for a bit longer to help me get back on my feet. “You don’t have to do that,” I tell him even though I can’t get on my feet right now.

 

“Rowan,” He leans forward and this big predatory smile crosses his face, “My first name is Ebenezer, it means ‘stone of help’, how could I not live up to my name? Please let me help you.”

 

His name feels wrong, like it isn’t Ebenezer, but something else. This close to him I can’t escape his eyes and just nod mesmerised by him. He leans back and it’s like a spell has broken, I can’t believe I just agreed to that. He stays for the rest of the day, he’s the perfect gentleman, he’s clearly intelligent, and when it gets dark he leaves with the promise of returning tomorrow, it feels more of a threat, and I don’t know why.


	4. Life

Impatiently I use my crutches to move down the aisle glancing at the tins on the shelves. Eb said he wouldn’t be long and took off with the damn shopping cart. Since I got sprung from the hospital he’s gotten me a nice little motel room, next to his, bought me some clothes, and generally taken care of me.

 

Nearly all my bandages are off now. I only really have my cast left.

 

I’ve been left with scars on my wrists where I must have been held captive. I’ve also seen my x-rays, there are a lot of breaks on my bones. The Sheriff thinks my family must be dead, because the breaks are fairly new, in the last ten years or so and nothing before that, so no child abuse, but with no family things would have changed drastically for me. Or I fell into the wrong crowd.

 

A lock of dark hair falls in front of my eyes and I brush it back and away. My long hair feels wrong to me, as if I’m used to much shorter hair, only Eb seems to like it and has gotten me a few hair things for it. The one time I mentioned cutting it he got upset, I’ve not brought it up since.

 

Passing the end of the aisle I catch a flicker of my reflection and stop in my tracks. I can’t get over how I look, it’s like a stranger staring back at me. She’s got long dark hair, big brown eyes, eyes that a nurse called doe eyed, and I’m kinda scrawny with this freckly, moley, covered skin.

 

And I still don’t think I’m a girl. I feel more like a boy. Just one more piece of evidence that something is very wrong with me. Like my lack of memory. I still don’t know who I am, I forget I’m supposed to be Rowen now.

 

Hobbling along I end up in the frozen section, slowing down at the curley fries area I stare at them hungrily, maybe I can talk Eb into letting me have curley fries at the diner later.

 

“Rowen,” And speaking of Eb, he’s right behind me. I flail a bit with my crutches and he chuckles at me. He enjoys sneaking up on me, he’s sadistic like that.

 

“Eb,” I try to calm down as I face him, “Did you get the last few things?”

 

“Yes,” He glances down and I look too. The big box of condoms is fairly front and centre. I’ve known since the hospital that he wasn’t the nice man he fakes being, that there would be a price to pay. What I didn’t know was that it’s like a shock every time we touch. Like my body knows him, wants him, and I’ve tried resisting, only that’s not worked out well, you can’t have cold showers with a damn cast on your leg. And I have no idea how to take care of the problem myself, it’s like what’s between my legs is alien to me, wrong.

 

Just the sight of the condoms make my muscles clench and a shot of lust shoot through me. As usual this little smile plays on his face, like he knows I’m getting turned on, just like he knows when I lie, and so many other countless little things he shouldn’t know.

 

We go to the check out together and he packs everything quickly and efficiently while I stand there uselessly and try not to fall over. When he pays he gets his wallet out and I notice his name is stamped on it, Ebenezer V Hemming.

 

At the motel he slows down so I can walk next to him as he carries things into his room, “So, what does the V in your name stand for?”

 

“Vitus,” He says as he sails back out of the room to get the rest of the stuff. I’m left in his room trying not to eye up his bed and failing.


	5. Shapechanger

Humming I listen to my iPod and shove our clothes into the washing machine. Eb’s left me here in the laundrette while he takes care of some urgent business that popped up an hour ago. In the five years we’ve been together I’ve still not found out how he makes his money. He’s very careful not to let anything slip, to not let me find out anything, and he always pays cash.

 

We’ve travelled all over the States, including Hawaii, but never California. We’ve been to Canada a few times. Sometimes we rent a little apartment and stay in one place for months at a time, mostly we travel.

 

I know we’re being hunted. We’ve had to leave several towns in the middle of the night. I’ve been careful not to ask too many questions. I’ve been very careful how I’ve researched him. Ebenezer V Hemming doesn’t exist. His ID is as fake as mine. He has nothing else on him, or with him, to tell me his real name.

 

All I’ve learnt from searching for Hemming is that his last name originates from Europe and means shape changer and has been linked to werewolves in the past. I used to laugh at that. I don’t laugh anymore. Sometimes he slips near the full moon, sometimes there are claws and not nails on his fingers. Not to mention his refraction period is practically non-existent.

 

For a few seconds I lean against the machine and try not to think of earlier and how he was spread out on the bed beneath me, or how his hands held my hips as he slammed his hips upwards.

 

Shaking it off I go back to sorting and washing. While the machines run I read. The book is old and the spine so abused, but I still get lost in Harry Potter and smile as they battle evil and win.

 

By the time I’ve gotten everything dry Eb is back. He’s not changed at all in five years. I’ve noticed the tiny signs of aging on me. There’s nothing on him, he’s stuck in his mid thirties and I think he’ll stay that way for some time too. He effortless lifts the two big bags of clothes and I struggle with the little one. Watching his arms carry the weight of our clean clothes with such ease makes me bite my lip to hide the whimper at how sexy he is.

 

He throws a smirk over his shoulder at me and exaggerates his walk so my eyes will be glued to his ass. “Now, now Rowan, at least wait until later,” he teases me. I do wait until we get to the hotel room, and then I pounce.

 

It’s never enough.

 

Each touch, each kiss, each thrust, they simply make me crave him more. He’s as affected as I am. This is one of those times he has to turn his head from me and hide his face. I know from past experience that there will be tears in the sheets where his hands are, and when he comes he’ll growl. But right now I cling to his naked body and flex my hips to meet him thrust for thrust desperate for him and wanting this burning ache to end in ecstasy and never end all at the same time.

 

In the morning he strips the bed and won’t let me see the claw marks I already know are there. We leave town an hour later and I relax as he drives us to a new destination.

 

He’s hidden so much from me, but I know his name was Peter. He twitches when someone says that name, like he’s not about to turn because someone called his name. There are a lot of Peter’s in California. Even more in Beacon County. But only one of them looks like my Eb.

 

Peter Hale.

 

The only survivor of the arson attack that killed almost his entire family. Of the other two survivors, one of them died at the hands of the arsonist, the other eventually moved back to Beacon Hills.

 

It took me five years to put the clues together. To get what precious little unsupervised access to the internet I could. And with it I found a different name; Argent. If the Hale name is linked to building a town and making sure the hospital, schools, and other services were always upgraded and maintained, that people and community came first. Then the Argent name is linked to death, murder, torture, and so many missing people cases. Oh they’re careful, but it’s there if you really look.

 

I don’t know how I lost my memories. But I know Eb knows how. And I know Eb knows who I used to be. There are too many times he’s known something about me before I could learn it for myself. I thought that meant I was from Beacon Hills too, only there are no girls or women matching my description from there. I’ve seen enough movies with forced amnesia to know that Eb is a very dangerous man, there’s a chance he could be the bad guy, but I think he’s just the damaged hero. I think he saved me from wherever that man was transporting me in the trunk to.

 

The only thing holding me back from trusting him completely is the fact he hides so much from me. I wish he would trust me more. I’ve started dropping hints, about how much I know. He’s started eyeing me up and weighing his words before he speaks.

 

In my pocket is a small ring box. I’m going to propose to him soon, and the name Hemming-Gates sounds amazing in my head.


	6. Revelations

We’ve spent the last two days holed up in the motel room. Other than breaks for the bathroom, shower, or to stuff food in our mouths, we’ve not left the bed.

 

Eb is gloriously naked beside me. His muscles flex as he pants for breath, sweat clings to him and makes him shine in the dim light from the bedside lamp. Sprawled on my side I can’t imagine ever living without him. And I think this is the moment.

 

Sliding from the bed I wobble on legs made from jelly over to my backpack and rummage through it until I find the box I’ve been hiding from Eb. Stumbling back to the bed I find him propped up on one arm watching me. Collapsing next to him I hold the box out. He’s very cautious when he opens the box and he stares at the rings silently.

 

“I thought Hemming-Gates made an awesome name Eb,” I babble a bit to break the silence. “And since I want to spend the rest of my life with you,” I wave at the rings and try not to panic that he’ll turn me down.

 

“Rowan,” He plucks the rings out and studies them, “I would be honoured to marry you,” He hesitates, “I’m not sure how to legally wed you though. There are some complications I’ll have to work on.”

 

“I know that,” I snatch the rings out of his fingers and then jam the one for me on my finger, “Your fake name is as real as mine, we’d never pass the checks,” and Eb goes predator still on the bed. I use the moment to get his ring on his finger. “We’ll just have to come up with new fake IDs and make them already married.”

 

Waggling my finger I grin at how good it looks with the ring on. “It’s not like Peter Hale can get married without someone noticing either,” I glance down to find him watching me with his worryingly thoughtful expression on his face.

 

“Eb, stop worrying. I was careful when I checked the history of that now deceased man. That poor man. To think his whole family, bar two, burnt to death at the hands of an arsonist. The same arsonist that murdered his niece and tried to make it and the other murders she committed cleaning up after herself look like animal attacks,” He’s still not relaxing so I move to cuddle into him. “And then he went missing after she died mysteriously.” I put an arm over his chest and hold on to him. “I wouldn’t blame him if he killed her, not after all the murders she’s committed.”

 

“Oh?” The word is so soft I almost miss it.

 

“It would have been in self-defence,” I tell him and try to curl into him. “If someone killed all those people, people that helped to kill an innocent family, then it’s obvious she’d try to kill the survivors too. If she was ever near that man she’d kill him. And he’d have to defend himself.”

 

“Hmm,” Is said as his arms curl around me holding me tight to him.

 

“And her family name is bad news. Seriously, you search the newspapers around the time her family is anywhere,” I shudder. “I bet there was once a little girl and something happened to her family in her late teens, something to do with the Argents. After that she gets lots of broken bones, and on her wrists and ankles are the marks of restraints, and one day she’s locked in the trunk of a car, by sheer chance the car’s hit by something, and she’s saved. The Argents might have stolen her memories but the man that saved her,” I pause and then carry on, “That man is a hero for daring to save her.”

 

His arms squeeze me, “The Sheriff said the crash was an accident. And I happened to be passing by.”

 

I roll my eyes and add, “There were strange animal tracks. The car hit something, and the car lost. Hemming has a very interesting meaning to it. And you’re not as careful as you think you are when the moon is full,” He’s stiffening in my arms again. “And I don’t give a fuck. My Eb is amazing and I wouldn’t have him any other way. I’m going to marry him. He’s mine and I’m totally gonna put a ring on it.”

 

Eb doesn’t say anything for a few minutes, “You really are very clever Rowan.”

 

“Not really, some of it was obvious, and frankly I’m in love with you Eb, you’re my stone, my rock,” He jerks next to me. I’ve never told him I love him before. “I thought I needed to know who I used to be. And I really want to know who my family were, but I don’t need to know what the Argents did to me. I don’t need to remember that. And I’ve gotten used to being Rowan now. The only thing I really need is you.”

 

Dragging my face along his side I lick his nipple, “I’m really looking forward to married sex, I hope you’re ready to rock my world Mr Hemming-Gates, because I intent to make an honest man out of you.”

 

A laugh is startled out of him and he rolls us over until I’m sprawled over his chest. His hands ghost up my back, “In that case Mrs Hemming-Gates, I’ll do my best to make you forget everything.”

 

For the first time I get to see his blue eyes turn red, his teeth get longer, and his nails scratch me gently until they rub the back of my neck. I grin down at him and tell him, “I hope not, I want to remember you, us, for the rest of our lives.” Bending to kiss him I add, “I love you Eb, I don’t ever want to live my life without you, without us.”

 

For a few seconds his mouth is unresponsive and then he kisses me back, softly, tenderly. He takes his time as we make love, I’m a wreck before he finally pushes into me. Instead of hiding his face from me he lets me see him partly change, and his growl becomes a howl that vibrates through me. All the time I cling to him and murmur how much I care for him, how wonderful he is, and I fall asleep afterwards safe in his arms, his fingers stroking the back of my neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you’re wondering, yes Peter did take Stiles’ memories, and yes Peter changed Stiles’ gender, a gender Stiles has slowly gotten used to due to the great cheat card of magic.


End file.
